


champagne problems

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Family Drama, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Infidelity, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Break Up, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Relationships, a lot of it, all around, but also the actual kind, everybody and their Issues, just a little bit, lots of em!, lots of self esteem issues, the tomgreg kind, tom's internalized biphobia strikes again but not so much this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Two years ago Greg left New York and went home. But now he's back with the Roys for the week, and Tom's not sure exactly what to feel, especially when Greg shows up engaged.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Original Male Character, Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans, Siobhan "Shiv" Roy/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	champagne problems

**Author's Note:**

> the angst i promised on tumblr. 
> 
> setting: canon divergent from anytime post boar on the floor but pre argestis bc the cruise shit never came out
> 
> title's from taylor swift's song of the same name. this should not surprise you. i exclusively listened to evermore while i wrote this

“When you say that Ewan and the Candian Roys are coming, does that mean everybody?” Tom whispered. He leaned down a bit so Shiv could hear him. She glanced up casually from her phone, “I thought this was still a very two households both alike in dignity sort of a deal.”

“Oh,” Shiv tucked her hair behind her ear, “Yeah I think so? I don’t know, nobody fucking tells me anything. Someone probably wanted to play peacemaker.”

Tom’s stomach turned over at the thought, but if Shiv noticed a shift in his expression, she didn’t mention it. A waiter stopped by and offered a tray of wine. She took one, but the idea of alcohol only made him feel sicker so he shook his head.

“Be nice to see them I guess?”

“Sure,” she nodded, “Hopefully Dad and Uncle Ewan get into a fight. At least that’ll give us the entertainment value.”

He remembered the last time he’d spoken to Greg well. 

Actually he thought about it with some frequency. When Shiv wasn’t home, when he couldn’t sleep. It had been fucking _vile._ And it wasn’t that Tom felt _bad_ in the traditional sense because it was just a break up and break ups happened. He’d gone into it knowing that it was going to end. He had a marriage to work through. Even if Shiv wanted it open, Tom fucking didn’t. So he’d have his fun, and then it would be over and by that time, he’d hoped, Shiv would have had hers.

(She hadn’t.)

Did Greg still think about that fight? Did it fucking haunt him too? 

There were things about the fight he’d kept to himself. Greg’s business. That was his reasoning. Everybody was always about using things against people, but what had happened, the things they’d said were not to be shared. Because Greg had been heartbroken, and Tom would have to be an even more terrible person to bring that shit up to haunt him.

“Why do you care?” Shiv asked, like she had just suddenly realized the strangeness of Tom’s words, “I thought you and Greg stopped talking to each other after your little bromance ended.”

“Yeah,” he swallowed, “No I know that, but it’s like when you go to your high school reunion and it’s all the people you stopped talking to. Little bit awkward, no?”

She made a face that he took to mean she was sympathetic, but had no fucking clue what he was talking about, “It’ll be fine. This isn’t fucking high school. I’ve got to find Dad. See you in a bit.”

After a quick kiss to his cheek she wove through the crowd-- only the Roys could host a family reunion and invite half the upper management of their company. Tom never really understood it. He missed the family parties back home, sometimes, with his aunts and uncles and not his mother’s law firm partners and the men his father worked with.

But that was for another time.

***

Much like a child, he’d be the first to admit it, but when Greg showed up, Tom ducked into the bathroom.

He looked good. Looked healthy and well adjusted. He had accepted a glass of wine, and, as Tom slipped out of sight, looked like he was being chewed out by Ewan. Like nothing had even changed. Like the past months had been erased from history and tonight Greg would show up at his room and it would be normal again.

Tom locked the bathroom door shut behind him, and splashed cold water on his face. It was freezing and almost made him gasp. He furiously dried his face off and looked at himself in the mirror.

In the almost two years since it had gone to hell in a handbasket, things had changed. Surely Greg was not still mad. Tom wasn’t still mad after all. It would have probably been good, the time apart, to reflect or whatever. Just because he still thought about it didn’t mean he still got upset over it.

They had been friends first, maybe they could be friends again.

(Actually, he didn’t think that, but he couldn’t spend the new week avoiding Greg. He refused to do that.)

No. He was not going to hide in the bathroom, was not going to play the broken hearted ex boyfriend. That was bullshit. Fucking _bullshit!_ They were fucking hooking up for God’s sake. It wasn’t some intense love affair that he ended. They’d just stopped fucking. That was all.

(That’s what he told himself anyway.)

He made sure his face was dry, and went back into the main room. He downed half a glass of wine and stood by the wall. They’d brought someone new with them. A new face. Tom was certain Greg had no siblings, had no cousins he really spoke to on his mother’s side of the family who would have been allowed to attend the trip. It was unlikely they’d picked up a random hitchhiker on their way. Maybe Ewan had adopted some fucking orphan to make himself feel better.

But as he was thinking about this, Greg looked over, met his eye, and Tom knew it was too late to escape because there was Greg coming over. 

“ _Fuck me,_ ” Tom whispered, and when Greg was closer, “Cousin fucking Greg. How are you?”

“Hi Tom.”

“You look well,” Tom said. It was a stupid thing to say. They weren’t co workers, they had fucked. It wasn’t some random person you saw once a year at the fucking Christmas party. When had he become incapable of talking?

“Thanks,” Greg looked down at his wine glass, “I’m alright. I’m better.”

“I didn’t know if you’d come. It’s been a long time huh?”

“It’s good to, like, see you again Tom. How are you and Shiv?”

“Fine,” Tom replied sharply. He was not going to talk about Shiv with Greg. That he had decided as soon as he’d even gotten a hunch that Greg might be here.

“That’s good,” Greg nodded. Goddamn was this conversation awkward. 

“So who’s the blonde guy, talking to your mom?” Tom asked, motioning with his glass of wine. It was probably better to change the subject now, before it got impossible to stand the weird tension. Greg glanced over to see who Tom was talking about.

“That’s my fiancé,” Greg informed him.

“Fuck off,” Tom shook his head, “Who is it? Seriously.”

“No, like, we’re engaged. We’re getting married in October.”

The words fell from Greg’s mouth and seemed to land between them. Tom felt like suddenly everybody was a million miles away. Sure, he had a vague notion that Greg might have been fucking people, might have even been _dating_ other people when he left New York, but now it was real and he couldn’t run from it because the proof was about five feet away from him.

“You’re serious?”

“Uh huh,” Greg frowned, “Yeah Eric’s nice I guess.”

“Where the fuck did you meet someone who wanted to marry you?” 

Greg glared at him, “Fuck off Tom.”

The defensiveness-- was that the word?-- was new. Greg wouldn’t have spoken like that to him before. Maybe it wasn’t defensive. Maybe it was venom. Tom had touched on a subject he shouldn’t have. This was not the same Greg he’d jerked around for months, the same Greg who just put up with him.

“I just don’t see you as the marriage type,” Tom said, raising his eyebrows. He took a long sip of wine and glanced over at the aforementioned fiancé. He was talking to Marianne, who seemed to genuinely look like she liked him. He was shorter than Greg, that was true, maybe Tom’s height. He had a bottle of beer in his hand and Marianne laughed at whatever was said.

(Tom felt a pang of _something_ at that. He’d never gotten that kind of approval from her and he never expected he would.)

“That’s because you saw me as like, your mistress Tom,” Greg said, and turned on his heel. He went over to his mother and fucking _fiancé_ and left Tom standing there looking like a moron. He turned the other way, and went off to find the other half of the Roys, _his_ half of the Roys, to find Shiv or someone who would talk about anything but this. 

***

He had retreated rather early to bed, claiming a headache. It wasn’t true, but there was a large headache shaped entity that went by the name of Greg lurking downstairs, so it wasn’t technically _untrue_ either. 

In the shower, he turned the water up as hot as he could stand, so he could think about nothing but the temperature. It was an old trick he’d started doing in college, to take his mind off things he’d rather actually die than think about too hard. 

But he couldn’t hide in the shower forever, so when his skin was red, and raw, he turned it off and wrapped a towel around his waist. A quick glance around told him Shiv hadn’t come up yet, so he got dressed, and figured he could play the fake sleeping card when she _did_ come back. She wouldn’t pester him too much if he acted like it really hurt.

Someone knocked at the door. For a minute or so, Tom stared at it like they might go away if he ignored them.

“It’s me man,” Greg said, and Tom’s traitorous heart leapt at the brief thought he had about Greg showing up unannounced at his door when his wife was downstairs and he was alone, “Shiv said you had a headache, so I brought you some water and a little bit of food.”

Tom groaned and got up, flung the door open, and frowned. 

“What do you want?”

Greg shook the water bottle, “I thought like, perhaps, you might want something to drink. Mom says that dehydration headaches are common. And not for nothing dude, but you suck at taking care of yourself.”

“Thanks,” Tom took the plate and the bottle, “That was thoughtful or whatever.”

“Yeah that’s all,” Greg smiled, “I know you can get, like, bad headaches so I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

A beat passed.

“ _Are_ you alright?”

“Fine, good,” Tom nodded, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Greg said earnestly and turned on his heel and left. Tom slammed the door shut so hard behind him, the framed painting on the wall tilted. He set the bottle down on the dresser and took the napkin off the plate. It was a small salad, what looked like leftovers from dinner, a handful of almonds, a banana, and a half a chocolate bar. Like Greg had raided the fucking kitchens for him. 

No wonder Tom had missed him-- because that was true, he’d discovered, Tom missed Greg so much it hurt, but he hadn’t realized it until he’d seen him again. 

Nobody took care of him like this anymore. 

***

It was nice, if nothing else, to be out of the city for the week. The Roys had a lovely--if expensive and massive-- home in the mountains, tucked away, where the air was fresh and clean, and _quiet._ Tom always forgot how much he missed the quiet. He spent the time he could spare in the woods, on the porches. Even around the others, it felt more peaceful. Maybe he could convince Shiv that they could benefit from a house in the country. That if they were to have children one day, it might be nice to have some place like that for them.

“Thought I smelled a familiar scent,” Tom said, poking around the corner. He’d been wandering through the balconies for at least ten minutes now, “You fucking stoner.”

“Hey man,” Greg said, elbows propped on the balcony. It was hard to see in the dim light, with only the shitty porch light to see by. He could make out the tiny pinpoint of Greg’s lit joint, “You stalking me?”

“Yes,” Tom went over to stand next to him, “Can I get a drag?”

Greg handed it over. Beyond a little fucking around in college, Tom hadn’t smoked so much as a cigarette until he met Greg, who had informed him that maybe he should take the stick out from his ass and unwind once and a while. He didn’t like it very much, but this little ritual, standing on a balcony sharing a joint felt so familiar it was almost unbearable.

Tom stifled his cough well, but he thought, by Greg’s chuckle, he still heard it.

“Why are you brooding out here all alone?” Tom asked. 

“You’re literally doing the same thing.”

It was a fair point. What was he doing out here? Only Shiv had gone into town and not come back yet and he _knew_ what she was doing, and he hated himself more than anything else.

“What’s up?” Tom asked.

“Nothing,” Greg lied. Tom knew he was lying, but he thought maybe he had no right to ask Greg to say more. Instead, he pivoted. 

“How’d you meet him?” Tom asked. 

“Who?” Greg held out his hand for the joint and took a drag, “Eric?”

“Yeah,” Tom looked out into the dark mountains, nothing but ominous shapes in the dark. The clouds had rolled over the moon, and Tom felt like there was nobody else in the world but him and Greg. It was actually peaceful. To be alone together like they were. 

“He, like, worked for the landscaping company that my Grandpa hired. I was staying there for a while. We just hit it off I guess.”

“You don’t sound thrilled Greg.”

“Don’t I?” Greg asked, and personally, Tom thought he sounded almost bitter, “I’m fucking exstatic.”

“What the fuck?”

Greg shook his head. Tom held back the desire to tuck the hair that had fallen into Greg’s eyes behind his ear. That would have been inappropriate. Instead he took the joint back. Maybe just to keep his hands busy.

“I’m happy,” Greg said, “I am. Really. Eric’s really nice. I’m excited to get married. I think we’re going to move to the city. Ottawa maybe. I think I like, miss the good ol’ hustle and bustle of the city.”

“You're the one that left,” Tom said, thankful the darkness hid his cringe. 

“Yep,” Greg said, “That doesn’t mean I wanted to. You have that. I’m fucking freezing.”

Tom didn’t reply-- couldn’t think of a reply really, because how was he supposed to response to that, before Greg could slip back inside. A quick gust of heat blew out at him when the door opened, and he watched Greg walk away until he couldn’t see him anymore. 

He finished the joint alone.

***

It hadn’t been easy to avoid Greg like he really wanted. The house was big, sure, but it was only _so_ big. He ended up alone in the kitchens one morning with Marianne, who coldly said _good morning Tom,_ and brushed past him to drink her coffee on the porch with her father. He could have argued that perhaps Ewan had instructed his little posse to keep the fraternization to a minimum, that they were there for business or whatever, but Marianne wasn’t the kind of woman who would do that if she didn’t want to. It was probably personal. Greg had always been fairly close with his mother. He called her all the time to ask her advice, so it was more than likely all the nastiness of their relationship had been on Marianne’s plate for months and months, just stewing until she saw him.

He said good morning back. But he was pretty sure she was already out of ear shot.

Though up until now, he’d avoided being alone, or at least mostly alone, with Eric. But no sooner had Marianne disappeared, when Eric came in to make himself toast. 

“Tom right?” he said, “I’m Eric.”

“I know who you are,” Tom said, blowing on his coffee. He didn’t have to be friends with Eric. Tom had been shit at making friends his entire life, and maybe he should have jumped at the chance, but he was distinctly uninterested in friendship with Eric. 

Eric frowned, “Is there a problem here?”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “No problem. Hey, congrats, on the engagement. That’s great news.”

“Thank you,” Eric said. His lack of enthusiasm for the engagement was matched only by Greg’s from the other night. Why were they getting married if they felt so ambivalent about each other? “Yeah, it should be nice.”

God was this fucking terrible.

“Greg’s really great,” Tom said. He felt like a fucking teacher at a parent conference or something equally as weird. What must Eric think of him at that moment? “I hope you two will be happy together. He, uh, he deserves it.”

Eric’s frown deepened, “Right.”

“Do you love him?” Tom asked. The words had flown out of his mouth and he’d been unable to stop them. Never had he so badly wanted to melt into the ground. 

“Excuse me?” Eric sounded offended, like he couldn’t believe Tom would dare to ask that question. And yes, Tom thought he’d probably be offended at the question as well, but it should have been an easy answer.

“Do you love him? Greg. Do you love him?”

“Why would you ask me that?” Eric said, clearly taken aback, “We’re engaged. Why? Do _you_ love him?”

“Well,” Tom began, “I’m not engaged to him.”

“What a weird fucking question,” Eric said, “Don’t fucking worry about what Greg and I do. You’re not a member of our engagement.”

And with that, Eric brushed past him too. Probably to go have coffee with his future mother-in-law. 

The coffee was suddenly very unappealing, but he drank it anyway.

***

Tom had asked Greg, quietly if they could talk, and after a half a second of painful waiting, Greg had agreed. They found an empty room and stood several feet apart. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was going to say, had thought a thousand times about what he _would_ say if presented with the opportunity to talk face to face with Greg, but all those ideas were long gone now.

Tom hated it all a lot. 

“So what the fuck. You fuck off to Canada because you can’t stand the sight of me or whatever and you come back all hunky dory like it never fucking happened?”

“I felt like your mistress Tom. I wasn’t kidding when I said that. Like Myrtle Wilson or some bullshit-”

“That’s a very astute literary reference pigman.”

“I saw the one with Leonardo DiCaprio,” he waved his hand, “The point is it felt bad Tom. Cause you know what happens to her? She gets fucking killed, and Tom and his wife live happily ever after. Poor dead Myrtle. I didn’t want that to be me.”

Tom nodded, “We should have set more boundaries.”

There had been rules, going into it. That they wouldn’t talk about it anywhere where they could be overheard. Even if there was a very slim chance. There would be no strings attached, no feelings, no anything. It was just sex. Tom thought it was probably the only way he could remotely feel like he was getting back at Shiv, and Greg hadn’t minded the hooking up. But then feelings _had_ gotten involved, and Tom knew Greg didn’t _expect_ him to get a divorce, but eventually Greg had grown tired of playing Tom’s other woman. And had said so in no uncertain terms. 

“It’s alright though. I’m not mad anymore. I knew full well, like, what I was getting into right? Like it’s my bad too. I think you’d like Eric, if you talked to him. Do you want me to like, formally introduce you two?”

Tom wondered how that would go. Hey, this is my sort of ex boss who I used to fuck on the side because his marriage was crumbling and he has more issues than Time Magazine. 

Had he already told Eric everything about them? Did Eric look at Tom like some sad, pathetic idiot who couldn’t even get it from his own wife? He’d gotten no indication in their brief interaction, and maybe Eric just had a good poker face.

“He’s, I don’t know Greg. He’s kind of a dick.”

And that wasn’t even untrue exactly. Tom thought Eric _was_ kind of a dick. The way he acted, like every prep school boy turned trust fund brat Tom had ever met, the way he talked about stocks with Kendall and the way he practically pretended that the staff was invisible. 

He was not the sort that he thought Greg would have ended up with-- even though maybe Tom saw himself a little bit when he listened to Eric. Tom was a preppy brat too, it was be stupid to deny it, but he didn’t _want_ to see himself in Eric.

But if he had Marianne’s approval there must have been something there. A difference between them. Something that would leave them perpetually different. 

(Tom knew he was probably, at least slightly, jealous. He hated it. That he was jealous over this.)

“You just don’t know him very well,” Greg argued, “besides, you don’t like, get to pretend that you’re my friend again. Like we didn’t have that fight. I’m happy to hang out with you here, because honestly, I don’t even like, really want to be here, but I can’t pretend it didn’t happen entirely. I know that like, I was mean, but you were fucking terrible as well Tom, and I think you know it. You know you’re an asshole.”

Tom glared at him but didn’t say anything.

“My mom likes him. My Grandpa likes him. For the first time I feel like they’re not fucking disappointed in me.”

“And they would’ve been with me.”

“Well, like, fucking _obviously_ Tom,” Greg shook his head, “You’re married. To my fucking cousin. You know that too. You were never going to leave Shiv for me, and I was just too dumb to realize it I guess. I don’t know, like, if you expected me to just follow you around for the rest of your life as like a weird third wheel, and whenever Shiv went off to fuck someone you could come crawling to me instead of manning the fuck up and telling her you didn’t want to have the Goddamn open marriage in the first place.”

Tom blinked and tried to pretend like every word Greg just said wasn’t a thousand percent true, “When did you grow a fucking backbone Greg?”

“When I went home I hid in my room for like, a month. I hardly even came out to like, eat dinner or whatever,” Greg said, “Mom said it was too much like when my Dad left. She was worried. I don’t know. I went back to the therapist.”

“Did you air all our dirty laundry?” Tom asked. If Greg could learn to talk in a tone laced with venom, Tom could match it ten fold. He didn’t like how Greg had truth on his side. It gave him too much of an upper hand.

“Yep,” Greg nodded without any sort of hesitation, “She said it was unhealthy. The way that we were. You being married and stuff.”

“You needed a therapist to tell you that?”

Greg took a deep breath, “I know that like, you’re frustrated and angry at Shiv. I know that you’re probably, like, deeply unhappy with her and with everything you have going on here here, but that’s not my fucking fault Tom.”

“Don’t fucking therapize with me Greg. It’s not my fault you had a fucking breakdown or whatever.”

“You’re hopeless Tom,” Greg frowned, “You really are.”

He turned to leave. They’d already been snuck off alone for too long, Tom knew that. There were enough people at the house, sure, to give them time, but Greg had a fucking fiancé and Tom had a wife, and eventually somebody would come looking. Tom grabbed him by the arm to stop him.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said.

“Sure man. Accepted or whatever.”

“No, I am sorry. I’m sorry for treating you like Myrtle fucking Wilson. I’m sorry for calling Eric a dick. I’m sorry for not making you stay, for not telling you that I loved you then, for not taking better care of you before you went to Canada.”

“What do you want me to say, Tom?” Greg asked, wary, but exasperated at the same time. People were always exasperated with Tom and usually he was pretty sure he deserved it, “I forgive you alright? I do. I already said that I wasn’t mad anymore. But I’m engaged. And I’m- I don’t want to fuck this up. We can try and be friends or whatever again, but we can’t be like we were. I can’t do that again.”

“You could do better,” Tom said. He let go of Greg’s arm and took a step back, “With your name? With that nice package Waystar sent you off with? What’s blonde man number fucking five got that makes him so special?”

Greg hesitated, for just a half a second. It was enough, Tom thought. He could work with it.

“He agreed to marry me. I gotta go man. I’ll see you later.”

***

It was not uncommon for Shiv and her siblings to go out. There was a dynamic between them that Tom would not understand. The Roys did not really take to outsiders, even ones they married. But that was alright. At least he knew where she was, knew who she was with. 

But then who was at his door?

“Talented Mr. Hirsch,” he said, “What can I do for you?”

“Can I come in?” Greg asked quietly. Tom thought he sounded like shit, so he stepped back and let him in. 

“What’s up?”

“Is there alcohol?”

Tom nodded, and went over to the dresser, poured them both a glass. Greg practically inhaled his.

“It’s not that kind of drink,” Tom said, “You’re supposed to savor it.”

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” Greg said. He set his drink down, came over and kissed Tom, firmly, on the mouth. If they didn’t already have a history, Tom might have been shocked, or even offended, but because Tom had been aching for this, he hardly even minded. 

“What happened?” Tom asked. 

“Nothing,” Greg said, and kissed him again. It wasn’t that Tom minded. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to rip these clothes off and toss Greg onto the bed, but this was bad wasn’t it? Unhealthy?

“Hey,” Tom pulled back, “I’ll fuck you Greg, if that’s what you wait, but I feel a little like a scumbag if you don’t tell me what’s wrong and I go at it.”

“I’ll talk about it after,” Greg said, and turned his lips to Tom’s neck. He leaned back again, “I promise I’m alright. I’m just-- I’ve wanted to fuck you since I saw you the other day.”

Tom suddenly understood the expression “weak at the knees.”

“I missed you,” Greg said. His voice was low, and Tom felt like a fucking Jane Austen heroine on her wedding night, “I really did. I forgot, like, how attracted I am to you?

“Yeah?” Tom brushed his thumb across Greg’s cheek, “You missed me? Or you missed my dick?”

“Little bit of both. Mostly you though,” Greg laughed and smiled, and for the first time Tom thought it was genuine, “Please Tom?”

“Alright Greg, you know I can’t resist it when you ask so nicely. What did you want me to do Greg?” Tom asked. They’d played this game a hundred times. Tom knew what Greg liked, Greg knew what he liked. It was like no time had passed at all. Like they were back in Greg’s apartment in the city, and Tom had shown up. No fiancés, no anything. Just the two of them. It came back naturally, this little act. 

“I want you,” Greg said, red in the face now. How could Tom have forgotten how easy it was to make him blush, “To fuck me, please?”

“You’re sure? What about Eric?”

Greg shook his head, “After. Please Tom? I promise. I’m alright with this. I want this right now. I promise.”

“Alright honey, alright.”

***

Greg sat up on the edge of the bed, and pressed his palms into his eyes. Tom was familiar with the move-- it was to stop you from crying. Tom sat up too, and put a hand on Greg’s back. The sheets and blanket pooled around his waist. 

“What the fuck,” Greg muttered. His voice was tight-- maybe he was crying, Tom couldn’t tell, “What the fuck man. Is this what it feels like to cheat?”

“I’m sorry,” Tom said. He shouldn’t be doing anything, shouldn’t be sitting here. Should put his clothes on and walk out like nothing happened. He wrapped his arms around Greg from behind, and laid his head on Greg’s back, “But yes. Do you- I mean, do you regret this?”

Tom was fairly certain he would not be able to live with himself if Greg said yes.

“No. Fuck,” Greg shook his head, “That’s what makes it worse I think. I’ve never regretted a Goddamn minute of it. And like I defiantly didn’t start now.”

“Oh.”

“I was good,” Greg continued, as if uninterrupted, “I was good and I didn’t even touch you. I tried so fucking hard. I wasn’t even going to come here Tom. To this fucking house because I _knew_ that I couldn’t keep my fucking hands off of you. The other night on the balcony. Holy shit Tom, I thought I was going to explode. I knew I shouldn’t have come here.”

“It doesn’t have to happen again,” Tom said, pleading for something. For Greg not to hate him forever. For Greg to stay here forever. This was what Greg must have felt like, every time Tom told him that was the last time. How the fucking tables had turned, “You won’t tell Eric. I won’t tell Shiv. It’s the last hurrah. In October I’ll send you a nice wedding present and that’ll be the end.”

How pathetic he must sound. Even he could hear it in his tone. Greg should laugh at him for how stupid he was.

“Everytime I’m around you Tom, you end up ruining my life,” Greg said, “Those fucking documents. This shit. Why do you think I left? I just-- I needed to get away. But every day I wanted to call you. I would have fucking _ruined_ myself for you. Guess I don’t even need you to ruin my life actually. I can do it myself.”

“I loved you. Did you know how fucking bad I wanted to tell you?”

_I love you still,_ he wanted to say, but didn’t. It would have made it all worse.

“So why didn’t you? Why didn’t you say something?” Greg shook him off and pulled his jeans on. Pulled his shirt back on. Tom watched like the sad sack he was, “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“Because I’m a coward. What do you want from me Greg? Why’d you even fucking come here tonight Greg? Because you knew Shiv was out with her brothers? Because your little blonde landscaper went out with your grandfather? Because you were fucking horny?”

“He’s back,” Greg said, “Eric I mean. We got into a fight and I told him I was going for a smoke and a walk. He- you know he doesn’t love me right?”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Tom said, even though he was pretty sure that it _was_ true, “Sure it’s not true. He wouldn’t marry you if that was true.”

“I’m only marrying him,” Greg began. He sat back down to pull his shoes on, “Because I don’t think anybody else would marry me. I know he wants the money my Grandfather is leaving me. Wants to live in a fancy apartment and drink expensive wine and go to dinner parties. Maybe wants a fucking job at Waystar. I don’t know. He hates his job now. But I asked him to marry me because I thought that maybe we could make it work. That we could be happy. I’m willing to give stuff up if he’ll just be nice. That I won’t be his second choice. His, fucking, side piece. I don’t know. It feels like it could work. I’d be willing to, like, try you know? I’m willing to give it the ol’ college try.”

“Don’t marry him,” Tom said. His heart was pounding in his chest, “Don’t marry him Greg.”

“Yeah right,” Greg rolled his eyes. Some of his good nature, some of his humor was back, “Sure Tom. Look. This never happened alright? It was good, it was nice, but not again. This can’t happen again. If Eric finds out, that’s my shot out the fucking window. Not to mention the fact that my mother will have my head on a spike if she finds out. Don’t marry him and then Tom? You leave Shiv and we fuck off together to like, the middle of nowhere and never speak to any of them again? It’s not realistic. You won’t talk about this?”

“I won’t tell,” Tom said.

“Goodnight,” Greg leaned down and kissed him, just once, “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

***

The idea of skipping breakfast crossed his mind, but he couldn’t. He had sworn to pretend nothing happened. Shiv came back late, bitching with Roman, and she stopped to kiss him, and hand him a coffee she’d picked up.

“I know how you like your coffee.”

“Thanks,” he forced a smile, “How was it, with your brothers?”

“Fun,” she smiled, “You know us. World domination’s just another night for us baby. What’d you do?”

“Slept mostly. I think it’s the mountain air. It tires me out.”

She laughed, like it was a joke, and maybe it was. They settled themselves around tables. Shiv excused herself to run some numbers with Karl, and Tom glanced over the Iron Curtain at the Candian half. Marianne must have still been in bed. Ewan had a large book propped open in front of him, though Tom couldn’t make the title out from his spot. Greg and Eric sat silently at the table. When Greg looked up, Tom looked away. 

When they had been hooking up the first time, Tom used to wonder if Shiv could somehow tell. Could read it on his face. Would there be some clue left behind that she would have been able to piece together? But as far as he was aware, she didn’t know anything. Maybe she knew he’d been fucking around, but he soon realized she meant it. Maybe she didn’t care what he did.

Sometimes Tom thought about leaking everything he knew about Waystar, just to shake things up. Sure, federal prison would objectively be terrible, but at least he’d be out of all this.

But that was all over now, so it didn’t matter. Whatever Greg told his therapist, he was certain that she didn’t know about the destruction of evidence. Greg wouldn’t do that. He’d only ever mentioned it again to get himself a better job. 

Tom was good at secrets too. People didn’t think so, but he could hide a lot. He _had_ hidden a lot. 

He sipped at the coffee Shiv had brought. It was much better than the coffee the staff had been making here, and scrolled through his iPad.

“Tom?”

He looked up, “Oh. Hello Mrs. Hirsch.”

She looked around nervously, “Can I speak to you?”

His first thought was that she knew. She’d seen Greg leave his room. He’d told her. Somehow she knew and he was about to be chewed out. 

But that was impossible. It had to be. Greg wouldn’t have spoken to his mother about this, and even if she’d seen Greg leave, he had a feeling her mind wouldn’t have jumped to the truth.

“Sure. Of course.”

“Out on the balcony?”

He nodded, and followed her outside. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, when the door had shut, “Is it your father?”

She shook her head, “I didn’t know how to tell Greg. You two, well, I thought you might be the best person to help.”

“Is he alright?” Tom asked. 

“I took this,” Marianne said, reaching into her pocket and producing a phone, “It’s Eric’s.”

“Well, you are a Roy after all,” Tom said, chuckling slightly, “How’d you steal it?”

“It’s his work phone,” she said, like that was somehow an answer and shook her head, “I had my suspicions Tom, about him. Greg is… trusting. You know that. And I think after he came back home he’d have gone with anybody who told him a few nice words.”

“What’s on here?” Tom asked, holding up the phone. 

“Several texts,” she said, “He’s fucking around on Greg. Has been for months. He wants my father’s money.”

Tom scrolled through the open app, and realized quickly that Marianne was not wrong. The evidence was as plain as day. Tom read through more than he wanted to, and realized that Eric wasn’t just a dick, he was awful. Nobody should talk about the person they were engaged to like that. He stopped at the joke-- at least he thought it was a joke-- about Eric taking out a life insurance policy on his soon to be husband and then pushing him down the stairs. 

The sheer horror made his stomach lurch. Tom was an asshole husband. He knew that, but he’d never even think about joking like that. 

“Greg has his suspicions,” Tom replied, “He told me so. That Eric only wants his inheritance. Wants a job at Waystar maybe.”

“It’s going to hurt him,” Marianne glanced inside, “But I don’t think they’ll go through with the wedding anyway so perhaps it’s for the best.”

“What makes you say so?”

Marianne shook her head and sighed, “He’s still in love with you.”

“I don’t know about that Mrs. Hirsch,” Tom said, though the tiny raindrop of hope was enough to make him fucking giddy, “We never said I love you.”

“Tell him or don’t,” she held out her hand for the phone, “I’m not fucking doing it. He won’t listen to me anyway. After all the things I had to say about you, he won’t listen to me.”

Tom thought the irony of the fucking thing, was that once upon a fucking time, Greg had come to him on his wedding day, to tell him a similar thing and Tom hadn’t believed it. What would have changed if Tom had listened. Had heard Greg out. 

Where would they be now?

“I’ll talk to him,” Tom said, “Maybe it’ll be best coming from me.”

She frowned, “I don’t want to fuck up his engagement. I only want what’s best for him. That’s the honest truth, Tom.”

“And that’s not me huh?”

Marianne glared at him, “I don’t know anymore. I don’t fucking know what’s best for him. Maybe he does though. After all this time Tom, I don’t think he ever stopped loving you. He was too caught up in that to think about what Eric might be doing. They were engaged in less than a year after meeting. I thought it was too fast, but what the hell did I know. His father and I got married after a year as well. Regardless of how that shit ended, I couldn’t be a hypocrite. Once upon a time his father loved me too.”

“Do you want them to get married?”

“Tell him or don’t,” she said again, ignoring his question, “My coffee’s getting cold.”

***

Greg wasn’t in the breakfast room when Tom got the courage to go back inside. He stopped by to tell Shiv he had to speak to Greg and that he’d be back soon. 

Ewan and Eric were talking, unaware of everything, so Tom went on the hunt for him, figuring now was the best time. Greg had tried to tell Tom before he got married, Tom owed it to Greg to tell him.

And if Greg didn’t want to listen, Tom would have done his part.

He knocked lightly on the door, and heard an 

“Greg?” 

“Oh,” Greg said, turning from the dresser, “I thought you were Eric.”

“I gotta talk to you,” Tom said, “Would you sit with me?”

“I thought we weren’t talking about last night,” Greg said. He pulled a shirt out of the dresser-- dark blue. Tom thought vaguely that it was his. Maybe left at Greg’s place after their blow up and tossed into Greg’s suitcase. But maybe that was just desperation again.

“It’s not about that,” Tom sat on the chest at the foot of the bed and waited. 

“Fine,” Greg tossed the shirt onto the bed and came to sit down. There was several inches of space between them, which made Tom’s heart hurt, “Talk.”

“It’s Eric.”

“Not this again?”

Tom shook his head, “I think he’s cheating on you Greg.”

Greg cocked his head, “How would you even know that? Did you fuck him?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Just kidding Tom.”

“Your mom gave me his work phone. I saw the messages myself.”

Greg clenched his fists on his knees, “That’s alright. I did the same thing. I’ll tell him about you, and he’ll tell me and we’ll be even. He’ll stop, won’t have to hide it anymore.”

“Greg, honey, I don’t know about that,” Tom’s voice was soft, and he hoped Greg knew how serious he was, “If you don’t want to see me anymore, that’s alright. But you don’t deserve to have your heart broken by another opportunist with a hard on for the Roy name.”

“Are you also talking about yourself?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I’m just an idiot.”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “I mean, yes, you’re a dumbass Greg, but this isn’t on you. I saw the messages. They’re nasty. You were right. Just for the money. The name.”

Greg nodded, and Tom knew he was probably about to cry. Tom put a hand on his knee and Greg covered it with his own. 

“Do you want me to have him killed?” Tom asked. Actually, Tom was semi-serious. He’d only scrolled through a portion of the texts, but if Greg had said yes… well, Greg wouldn’t say yes so it wouldn’t matter.

Greg laughed, the kind of laugh you do when you’re starting to cry and someone is trying to help.

“They probably wouldn’t find him. I’d get a very expensive hitman. Very good at his job.”

_Hell,_ Tom thought, maybe I’d do it myself.

“I guess I was just blind,” Greg wiped his eyes, “To think that he might actually want me right? Like he was a rebound or something? Why do I have such shit luck?”

“I didn’t know if I should tell you,” Tom said, “But I, well, you tried to tell me. I owed you.”

“I just wanted to try,” Greg shook his head, “Guess my place in life is mistress huh? Maybe I’m cursed? Sometimes people are cursed.” 

Tom shook his head, “I’m sorry I had to tell you this. It’s only because, well, you know how I feel about you.”

“That’s alright. Thank you. You know I thought maybe he was, but when I went looking for his other phone the other night I couldn’t find it. Guess Mom was one step ahead.”

“What will you do?”

“Fucking break up with him I guess. I already told you, like, I was willing to try and make things work but I’m not playing that game again. So like, I have to break up with him.”

Tom nodded, “I think you should.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Greg stood up, giving Tom the idea that the conversation-- and his time in the room-- was up, “I appreciate it.”

“Did you want me to help?”

“Oh no,” Greg shook his head, “That’s a bad idea. I’m a big boy Tom, I can break up with somebody on my own.”

***

Tom gave Marianne a nod, and asked Shiv if she wouldn’t mind talking to him outside. He was exclusively winging the next ten minutes, the next fucking chapter in his life. He had thought about it on the walk back from Greg’s room. Maybe this should have come sooner. Maybe he shouldn’t do it here, but life wasn’t fucking fair to anybody in the Goddamn world.

“What’s up?” she asked, “You don’t look so good.”

“Greg’s fiancé is having an affair,” he said slowly, “Several of them actually. I just told him.”

“Oh,” she nodded, but it was clear she didn’t understand why he was telling her this, “That’s terrible. How did he take it?”

“As well as can be expected.”

She crossed her arms, and Tom knew she was expecting… something. Why else would he have brought her outside, alone, to talk to her. Why else would he be telling her this, phrasing it as he did. Because he was pretty sure Shiv did not care if Greg got married or didn’t. 

“Shiv, I can’t do this shit anymore.”

“What shit?”

“This,” he motioned between the two of them, “On our _wedding_ night Shiv. I tried. I did, but I can’t be married to you and everybody you fuck. You might not be cut out for monogamy but I think I want to be.”

“Tom I know you were fucking around too,” she said, “I’m not an idiot.”

He nodded, “I know you’re not. Of course I know that.”

“I had a hunch,” she looked back at the house, “About the two of you. But I didn’t want to believe it. He’s my fucking _cousin._ I didn’t think I was right. Maybe you two were just weird friends. Guess I should have listened to my hunch. How long?”

“Since Hungary. The retreat. It was bad, I don’t know. I went to his room. Off and on since then, until the Spring he went back to Canada.”

“Fucking hell, Tom.”

Tom nodded, “That’s _why_ he went back to Canada. We got into it. Bad. It’s not important that I go into the details right now. The point is that I treated him like a fucking toy or something instead of an honest to God human being, with feelings.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“I think I want to leave you?” it came out like a question, and honestly he wasn’t sure why, “Shiv, I’m fucking _miserable._ I don’t know how I haven’t offed myself in the bathtub yet. I really don’t.”

He knew this was shitty. That it made him the bad guy. But he’d long since accepted his role as a bad person. He should have waited until they were at home. 

Actually he should have said something ages ago. But it was too late now.

Better late than never wasn’t always the best option but it was his only option now. 

“You’re leaving me for Greg. Listen to how that fucking sounds Tom.”

“No. I’m leaving you for me.” And that was true. Sure, he thought about Greg, and what this would mean for the two of them, but the truth was that this was for him and he should have had the fuckimg spine to do it ages ago. 

She sucked her teeth, threw her hands up in the air, and nodded, “If that’s what you fucking want Tom, fine. I don’t give a shit. You can ruin everybody’s life because of poor fucking cousin Greg’s cheating boyfriend or whatever. It’s sad, that’s what it is. But fine.”

“I know this isn't ideal,” he said. He was trying everything to stay calm, when the idea of punching the glass door until it shattered seemed like a good idea.

“ _Isn’t ideal?_ ” she scoffed, “Whatever Tom. We signed a pre nup for a fucking reason. Go sleep in fucking Greg’s room tonight. I don’t want to talk to you.”

She stormed back inside, probably, if Tom’s hunch was correct, right to Logan. Tom would be lucky if Logan didn’t hire men to kill _him._ Fuck his semi-fantasy about having Eric killed, Tom would be lucky if he didn’t end up in the bottom of the East River with all his identifying features removed.

He waited a moment, hoping everybody wouldn’t be staring at him when he came back in.

They were.

***

Greg came and found him out on a little rock in the woods. He’d found it the first day they’d been there and he liked how it overlooked a stream he could chuck rocks into. He’d already broken several things in the bedroom, and probably fucked up his hand on the bathroom door, so the rocks were a calmer option. 

“Heard about all the drama,” Greg said, sitting down next to him, “Are you and Shiv going to get a divorce?”

“I believe so.”

Greg saw what he was doing with the rocks, and picked up one on his own, tossing it into the stream with a quiet splash. 

“How’d it go with Eric?”

Greg shrugged, “Fine I guess. He was mad I guess. But I don’t think he was mad that I broke off our engagement, he was just mad he can’t get what he wants. Least we weren’t married.”

“Thanks for fucking rubbing it in Greg,” he sighed, “You know Logan’s going to ruin my life.”

“Probably a little bit. Grandpa laughed though. He’s the one that told me. He said you were the first member of the family who had any balls.”

Maybe under different circumstances Tom might have laughed. Maybe it was funny, he’d just forgotten how to be happy enough to joke. 

“What are you going to do?” Greg asked. 

“Get a lawyer,” Tom shrugged, “Call my mom? I don’t fucking know. Maybe I’ll move back to St. Paul. What are you going to do?”

“Why’d you do that Tom?” Greg asked, ignoring his question altogether, “Why _now?_ ”

“I don’t know. I just want to be fucking happy Greg.”

“Course you do. You’re only human.”

“And I think I was truly happy last night. With you. Before that, it had been _months_ and you know what the common factor is?” Tom turned his head to look at Greg, “You.”

Greg nodded, “Yeah. I missed you a lot. Like. I don’t know. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Eric kind of reminded me of you in a way. He liked nice things. Dressed well. You know. Maybe, like, I was trying to live out my fantasy with him instead of you.”

Tom swallowed, “I missed you too.”

“You’re really getting a divorce?”

“Uh huh. Shiv’s pissed. I guess all I really want is Mondale. She probably won’t want him if I let her have the rest. I can’t believe I’m thankful we _didn’t_ put an infidelity clause in the pre nup.”

“You know how hard I fucking wanted this before? You to leave Shiv I mean. And now you’re doing it and we’re not even fucking together,” Greg shook his head, “I felt like a real dick. Wishing for my cousin’s husband to leave her.”

Tom shrugged, “We could try again I guess. It might be hard.”

“No it wouldn’t be. Mom came to see me, after,” he laughed, “She said she didn’t think I’d go through with it anyway. I still love you Tom. After everything. I didn’t know how to stop. My therapist said it was alright, that I was working through it. She’s gonna be pissed when I tell her about this.”

Tom laughed now. It wasn’t really that funny, but it made him laugh anyway, “Sorry you’re in trouble with your therapist. I love you too dumbass.” 

“You can stay with me,” Greg said, “If you don’t want to go back to New York. I mean, once I like, kick Eric out.”

“Oh Canada eh? With the socialized medicine? Gonna get me in on a green card?”

“Just until you figure stuff out. Until _we_ figure stuff out. I don’t know. We kind of showed up and fucked everything up.”

“We’re pretty good at that.”

Greg laughed, “My ass is freezing out here Tom. Should we go inside?”

“I don’t really want Logan to murder me.”

“Grandpa won’t let him probably. You can join the Candian Roys for the remainder. We just had a spot open up funnily enough.”

“Fortuitous.”

“I just don’t want to be alone I think. And like I read the internet I know that like if you can’t be alone and love yourself then that’s bad but I just think that perhaps I get lonely? I don’t want to be by myself. I would have put up with it from Eric just so I wouldn’t be alone Tom. I don’t want that. 

“You’re not going to be alone,” Tom said. He leaned over and pressed their foreheads together, “I’m sorry I’m an idiot and it took me so long to realize it. But if you’ll have me, well, maybe I could look after you?”

Greg chuckled, “and I could look after you?”

“Sounds good.”

“What did you do to your hand?” Greg asked softly. He gently took Tom’s hand, watching carefully to see if Tom would wince. 

“I maybe punched the bathroom door in my room. It’s a blur. I don’t know.”

“Well, at least it was inanimate. Is it broken?”

Tom flexed his hand. It didn’t hurt too bad and he was pretty sure he hadn’t seriously hurt it. Greg’s fingers were soft on his skin and Tom thought if they stayed there forever like this, he’d be alright with it, “I don’t think so. Just banged up.”

“Don’t let it get infected or they’ll have to cut it off. Are you sure it’s not broken?”

“Greg stop fucking talking about dumb shit all the time,” Tom said and leaned forward to kiss him, “I love you.”

Greg nodded, “You know I love you too.”

***

There was no way they could avoid Logan. This was his domain after all. Actually, Tom wasn’t sure what _wasn’t_ his domain but now was definitely not the time to be thinking about that. 

He felt like a child who was about to reamed out by his principal. That or a prisoner about to hear his sentence. 

“My daughter tells me you’re ending the marriage,” Logan said. Tom didn’t dare look over at Greg who’s punishment may or may not end up being worse. 

“Yes sir.”

Tom dared a glance up. Logan’s eyes were ice cold and instead of letting himself freeze, he looked back down. He’d seen just how nasty Logan could get and this was the worst thing Tom had done. 

What if boar on the floor was just a preview?

Really, Tom thought maybe he could take it. Possibly. It wasn’t like Logan could alter their already signed pre nup and further screw him on the divorce. What was he going to do? Kill him on the spot? But it wouldn’t be fair to Greg. Nothing Tom had ever done had been fair to Greg but maybe it was time to start. 

“And what the fuck am I going to do with you?” Logan said, and Tom risked a glance over at Greg. 

“We’ll just leave,” Tom said. He couldn’t bear to watch Greg face Logan’s wrath. Greg would be in enough trouble because of him. Let him at least try to keep Logan’s anger on him for a little hole longer, “Be gone in an hour.”

Maybe telling Logan that technically he and Shiv weren’t monogamous would work, but he didn’t really think so. Logan was going to side with his daughter. And why shouldn’t he? She was his _daughter_ and that was the way it should be. But it meant that he was in deep, _deep_ shit.

Logan returned to him and Tom actually wondered if he was about to die on the spot. Maybe he couldn’t take it after all. 

“I’m not speaking to you am I?”

“No sir.”

“Did my fucking saint of a brother put you up to this?” Logan asked Greg, “What? You come down here and fuck my son in law and turn him gay? What else did you ruin while you were here?”

“That’s like, not how it works,” Greg said, “Besides, Grandpa didn’t put me up to anything.”

“Bullshit. It’s all fucking bullshit. Can’t even trust your own family. But your branch was always the black sheep. Your father proved that. You must have gotten it from him,” Logan shook his head, “Both of you fuck off. Out of my sight. Tom if you want to talk to my daughter about the divorce you have your lawyers do it. Don’t speak to her again.”

“Yes sir.”

That was a dismissal if Tom had ever heard one, and the thick wooden door slammed behind them with a distinct note of finality.

“I thought we were going to die,” Greg said, slightly breathless. 

“Don’t forget to check your brakes before you get on the road.”

“What are we going to do Tom?”

Tom frowned, “Leave. Get your shit right? We’ll leave. We’ll get a shitty motel if we have to. I’m not sleeping under this roof tonight. I don’t have a death wish. We’ll go on the run like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“I meant like,” Greg waved his hang vaguely, “on a wider scale what are we going to do? You’ll be out of a job tomorrow. What are we going to do?”

“That’s all bullshit. None of it matters. We’re going to figure it out somehow. We’re pretty smart right? Well, some of us more than others.”

Greg fucking grinned, “Really?”

“Yes,” Tom nodded, “Look, I think maybe we’re both fucked. We’re both fucking scumbags.”

“Some of us more than others,” Greg muttered and Tom smacked him on the shoulder. 

“ _But,_ ” Tom continued, “Maybe that’s good because we’re with each other. We can be fucked up together.”

“How romantic.”

“I just want to be happy again Greg,” Tom said quietly. It was still risky, standing outside Logan’s office and talking like this. Tom wanted to leave more than anything. Leave and never, ever come back, “Do you think we could just try for that? You and me. Better than we were before. You’re not anybody’s second choice anymore. Would you try again, with me?”

“Yes,” Greg said, with absolutely no hesitation.

**Author's Note:**

> the way i just want tom to go feral
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoyed. haven't plugged my tumblr in a bit but you can find me @feuillytheflorist.


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